


The Princeliest Dream I Could Get

by kribban



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode: s03e07 Fresh Blood, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-04
Updated: 2014-08-04
Packaged: 2018-02-11 17:57:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2077611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kribban/pseuds/kribban
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lucy gets her second chance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Princeliest Dream I Could Get

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Spnkink-meme @ LJ. Title is from a Gustaf Fröding poem. 
> 
> Lucy's canon death is one of the few things that really bothered me on Supernatural, so I decided to give her a better ending.
> 
> Constructive criticism (grammar or plot) is much appreciated.

When Lucy finally gets home, she's overcome with relief. She doesn't know why, she's had longer nights than this, but there's something about this one that's different. Whatever that guy gave her has mercilessly filtered out of her blood stream and though she's numb, and cold, at least she's not hallucinating any longer.

She takes a shower. It's like the water cleans away all her mistakes and when she goes to bed she sleeps without dreams.

Lucy decides there and then to never get high again.

 

After a while she quits the night club scene all together. She finds a quiet little bar that's expensive enough to attract an older audience. There's a live band on Wednesdays and Saturdays, and the bartender makes sweet fruit cocktails that leave her just gently buzzed.

It's in that bar that she meets Peter.

 

The first night in their new apartment, she slips out of bed quietly to go to the bath room. There are boxes everywhere and she almost trips on one in the dark. Cursing, she turns the light on.

Standing a few feet away is the full figure of a man, transparent and flickering like a broken light. He reaches his arm towards her and just when she's about to scream, he vanishes.

 

The landlord tells them there's never been a mysterious death in the building and that if they want to break their lease they'll still owe him three months' rent. Lucy assures Peter that it won't be necessary, that it was probably just a waking dream. He tells her it bothers him that she's scared and she realizes that she isn't.

 

Lucy loses her mother three weeks before her due date. Heavy in body and soul, she leans on Peter for most of the funeral preparations. The service is dignified and peaceful and when she places the white rose on the casket the baby kicks. She feels a little jolt of anticipation and when she looks up, the ghost is there. He's still transparent but she can see it's definitely a human man. He reaches his arm towards her and disappears a second later.

She looks around the room, but all the other guests are focused on their own grief.

 

Her body does all the work during labor. It's a completely different feeling from having a bad trip, because she's there for all of it and never feels like she's losing control. Later, the rush of endorphins keeps her up long after Peter has fallen asleep. She comes out of the bathroom to see the ghost standing over the hospital issued crib. She takes a step closer.

”Hey! Did you come to see the baby?” 

The ghost flickers once and for a brief moment she can outline a pair of hazel eyes looking at her.

 

She sends an e-mail to one of those online medical columns and signs it ”Worried Mother in the Midwest.”

Charlie is a cute and chubby baby, and her days are filled with cuddling and baby care. During nap time she lies on the couch, skimming through medical articles on her laptop. She eventually ends up on a blog written by an ER Nurse, and she's so caught up in the stories that she forgets to worry.

Her question appears in the next column.

”Dear Worried Mother, congratulations on your baby! Drug-induced psychosis is more prevalent after repeated use of hallucinogenic drugs over a period of time. That a first time use should cause hallucinations several years later is highly unlikely.”

 

Lucy has no problems with blood. Maybe it's because she's given birth, but the sight and smell of it doesn't bother her at all. By the time the first hundred hours are up, a third of her class has dropped out.

It's tough to keep any semblance of work-life balance, but Peter is so proud of her and tries to work from home as much as possible. ”You're my heroine,” he often says, and looks at her with such admiration it's hard to believe a man like him exists.

By the time Lucy is thirty-five, she's a certified paramedic.

 

The girl is hemorrhaging fast. Head-on collision, metal pipe through the abdomen. The mother had panicked and pulled it out before Mark could stop her. Now she's half-hysterical in the back, crying softly that it wasn't her fault. Lucy's ghost hovers uselessly in front of her, reaching wordlessly as always.

She glares at it. ”I could use a little help here, you know.” 

The ghost flickers out of existence. Lucy puts her whole hand in the wound and keeps it there until they arrive at the hospital. The girl makes it.

 

It's as if she's watching a water color painting being done in slow motion. The ghost becomes clearer at the contours first, creating a sharp divide between it and the surrounding air. The body is filled in piece by piece, color first and mass later. By the time Charlie graduates from high school she can see floppy brown hair and a sad smile.

One of her theories is that a long lost memory from her childhood is trying to manifest, and when she has enough visual cues she'll remember it. It can't have been a very traumatic memory, because the ghost never seems hostile. At this stage it's almost an old friend, and there's no reason to tell Peter about something that isn't a problem. 

 

At the age of sixty-five, Lucy retires. The hospital gives her a gold watch and a medal of honor. She doesn't value it nearly as much as she does the box of letters from patients who survived.

Sometimes, years later, they send her pictures of their kids too, adding to the list of lives that wouldn't exist if it wasn't for her.

 

By the time Lucy is dying, Peter has been gone for almost a year. It was heart failure in his sleep, a peaceful death unlike so many she has seen in the line of duty. His belief in her had never faltered, and the last time he kissed her had been the day he died.

Her bedroom has been moved downstairs, to make it easier for her to go out in the garden. Charlie's paying a gardener to keep it in order, and he or one of the kids come by at least once a day. The medication she takes will keep her comfortable for as long as she lives. In a few days she'll be eighty seven.

She wakes up from her afternoon nap to see a familiar figure standing by the foot of her bed. The sunlight hits the side of his face and she realizes that for the first time, he's completely solid.

”It's... it's you.”

His smile is almost sheepish. ”Hello, Lucy. It took me a while to get through.” The bed dips beneath his weight as he sits. He's a young man, mid-twenties, sad eyes and dimples. It's a familiar look, in more ways than one.

”My grandson looks a lot like you.”

”Really? Sounds like a good-looking kid.”

She nods and points to the glass on the bedside table. The medication makes her mouth dry.

”You know,” she says after he has helped her drink. ”I figured it out years ago. Who you are.”

He puts the glass back, keeping his face turned away. ”Really?”

”You're my guardian angel, sent to put me on the right path. To show me that I should save people.”

He turns his face back towards her and nods. ”You've saved a lot of lives. You're a hero, Lucy. And you're almost done.”

She wants to say that her days of saving lives are long over, but having the chance to talk to a real angel shouldn't be wasted on semantics. ”Have you come to get me?”

He shakes his head. ”No, it'll be a while still.”

”But I won't see you again.” It's pretty obvious. He can't get much more solid than he is now.

”Probably not. Do you mind if I hold your hand for a while?”

Lucy almost breaks out into laughter. ”You've watched over me almost my entire life. It would be pointless for me to start setting boundaries now.”

He smiles and takes her hand. His hands are warm and his eyes are kind. ”Was this a good life, Lucy? Were you happy?”

What a small word to describe fifty years of love and family. ”You know it was. You saw it.”

He nods, like he's filing away the information. For a few minutes they sit quietly. 

”I don't even know your name,” she says after a while.

He looks almost embarrassed but he smiles anyway. ”My name is Sam.”

”Nice to finally meet you, Sam.” It's a really weird name for an angel, but she doesn't want to be rude.

 

When she wakes up the second time, he is gone. She feels no sadness, just an intense relief. Callie arrives soon after, and Lucy asks her to help her out into the garden. It's a bright, sunny day, and Lucy has always loved feeling the sun on her skin.


End file.
